


By the barest of margins II

by Agoodcaptain



Series: By The Barest of Margins [2]
Category: Cricket RPF
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-11
Updated: 2020-06-11
Packaged: 2021-03-04 05:54:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,939
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24658681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Agoodcaptain/pseuds/Agoodcaptain
Summary: England have won the world cup by the barest of margins... but how do Jos Buttler and Joe Root celebrate?
Relationships: Jos Buttler/Joe Root
Series: By The Barest of Margins [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1778338
Comments: 9
Kudos: 9





	By the barest of margins II

**Author's Note:**

> Much recommended that you read the first part of this as you'll get a lot of little nuggets along the way and some parts won't make a ton of sense without it.
> 
> Also, I thought about holding out on you guys so you wouldn't get bored of my stuff but I gave up and two days later, here I am.

_“This is the moment, it’s Archer to Guptill. Two to win. Guptill’s gonna push for two, they’ve got to go. Throw’s going to go to the Keeper’s end… He’s got it! England have won the World Cup, by the barest of margins, by the barest of all margins. Absolute ecstasy for England. Agony, agony for New Zealand ”_

_**This is the moment...** _

Although they wouldn’t realise this until the next day, Ian Smith was – as always – completely right. The angle of Ben’s bat as he dived for the crease, the couple of inches of rope that Trent stumbled on, that rigid square of material of the chest guard that Woody inexplicably wore when he strode out to the non-strikers end for the last ball of the innings, the second lost when Jase fumbled the ball, and of course the six or seven inches between Jos and the wicket that he closed with a dive – it was the barest of margins, the finest of lines, the smallest details that made the difference between winning and losing. And Jos didn’t think he’d ever stop being grateful that when the day was done, in that split second after Jos crashed his glove into the stumps with his hand curled tight around the ball, when the calculations were made of all these little pluses and minuses, that England came out on top.

He knew immediately of course; that it was out, and what that meant. He didn’t need to wait for the review, or the graphic on the big screen that put it beyond all doubt: “England win on boundaries.” He felt an immediate clarity and energy go through him a bolt of electricity and he just started running. At that moment, Jos couldn’t have cared less if anyone caught him or if he just kept going and going, out the Grace Gate and into the London streets. Jos’ charge was eventually halted when Eoin pulled him into a bear hug, he hugged back, throwing his head back, eyes closed surrendering completely to the moment. Jos was ecstatic to celebrate with Morgs, the diminutive Dubliner had done so much to pull this team together from the rags left after the last World Cup, he had molded and shaped, scolded and cajoled, coached, boosted and created this group, this machine of men. Yes, Morgs was the pulse of this team, its heart, its brain and its soul, but there was another England captain on the field, with baby blue eyes that perfectly matched his kit, and it was his arms that Jos longed to be in, that skinny chest that Jos wanted to bury his face in and not emerge for a very, very long time.

But that might have to wait, and Jos had learnt over the years to be patient, to wait for another shot at the Test team, to wait for the keeper’s gloves to be given back to him, to wait for Joe Root to kiss him. Sometimes the wait felt interminable, sometimes he couldn’t be sure if he’d ever get what he really, truly wanted, but the reward was so beautifully, wonderfully worth it. And if he never played another Test for England, or if Jonny clung onto those gloves till he was cold in the ground, Jos would be just fine, as long as Joe kept kissing him.

But if there ever was a time for Jos to abandon his sit-back, polite, ‘should-I/could-I’ ways, it was right after he became a World Champion. So as the team piled back into the dressing room after the presentations in a sweaty mess - shirts sticking with champagne, medals feeling strange against their chest, cheeks sore from smiling – Jos grabbed Joe’s arm and pulled him away impatiently. Joe followed him around one of the inexplicable turns in Lord’s corridors that seemed to lead nowhere, apart from right now when just for a moment, and only for these two men wearing light blue, it was a portal to paradise.

Joe blushed, and dropped his voice, “Jossy, we can’t – they’ll –“  
“Joe. Shut. Up.” Jos held tight onto Joe’s hands as if he might escape, although he was showing no desire to be anywhere but right there with him. The two pressed their foreheads together, eyes and mouth still stretched wide in giddy disbelief, before falling together; lips tongues and hands moving frantically, fists grabbing at shirts, nails scraping against scalp, teeth grazing against lip. All too quickly, Joe pulled back, his eyes glazed over to suggest it had taken considerable effort.  
“Later,” Joe whispered, and Jos grumbled his assent, letting go of Joe’s waistband that he had been clawing at, and reluctantly allowing Joe to move back towards the dressing room.

As Jos trudged after Joe, he sighed like a lovesick teenager, “Parting is such sweet sorrow,”  
“You’re so dramatic Jos, where do you get this stuff anyway?”  
Jos laughed, “I wish you’d read now and again, Joe.”  
“I read!” Joe squealed, indignant, stopping with his hand on the dressing room door.  
Jos pushed past Joe and with his shapely behind began slowly pushing open the door, “You read Wisden. And a Blades blog, and maybe the Metro Puzzles page. And that’s just the Word Search.” Jos added with a wink.  
“Fuck off,” Joe whispered leaning over Jos, getting close. “I do the crosswords too. Ask Jim.”  
Jos giggled and pushed against the door again, more firmly this time, “It’s cute that you don’t notice him giving you the easy clues.”  
Joe’s cheeks flushed and Jos felt bad for a second – maybe Joe really didn’t know. But after a second, they are swept up into the epicentre of the celebrations.  
“Where did you two lads get to?” Jonny asked, immediately following up with “Your hat hair is a right state by the way, Jos.”  
“Hat hair,” Ben intoned, coming up to join them, “Yeah that’s probably what it is.” Ben’s voice was steady, flat, but he fixed them both with a hard stare then swallowed a smile, which made Jos start gulping rapidly.  
Jonny’s face was still wide-eyed innocence – it’s hard to ever be annoyed at Jonny even when he was being a nosey so-and-so, it was like shouting at a nervous puppy; they aren’t ever meaning to misbehave and you only end up with a mess on the floor anyway.

“Looking for my uke,” Joe eventually filled in, his quick-thinking skills coming in to play – not bad, Skip.  
“Must have put in here or…”  
But Joe’s excuse doesn’t even need a plausible conclusion because Jonny’s tail was practically wagging,  
“No way! You brought it?” Joe nodded and Jos really hoped his bluff hasn’t just been called.  
“You cocky bastard, Rooty!” Jonny punched Joe on the shoulder much harder than he meant to, grimacing an apology as Joe recoiled.  
Joe went to his stall to retrieve his instrument and Jos followed under the pretence of getting a beer from the icebox, “Wasn’t that tempting fate?” Jos whispered.  
“I don’t know,” Joe replied, serious for once, “Fate’s always been on my side. For the important things anyway.”  
Jos took a second to ponder this; Joe was right, he supposed, about the big things, they’ve been pretty lucky. He got a beer each for himself and Joe and went up to join that crazy, crazy man that he was completely intoxicated by, getting ready to belt out their team’s song loud enough to wake up every crusty MCC member – alive or dead.

* * *

**Two to win...**

Joe loved being captain of the Test team: the history, the responsibility; most of all Joe just liked taking care of people. There wasn’t a part of him that wanted to give it up, even when the scrutiny made any kind of private life with Jos difficult – they just had to get more creative with their dates, and spending time cooped up inside together wasn’t exactly a punishment. Joe didn’t even care when know-nothing media idiots began to spout off – they had a job to do same as him, and Joe would always protect the room from all that as best he could. It was worth it.

This was all very true, but it didn’t mean it wasn’t also quite nice to play for the ODI side and have Eoin take all that on. Aside from the fact that it worked out so much better for the team to have different people in charge – poor Alastair had worn himself down trying to cling to both jobs – it was genuinely relaxing not to have to make decisions for once. It was a relief to just go out there and bat, or catch – he’d even bowl if that’s what Morgs asked of him, though he’s not sure his off-break was much good for anything apart from getting sprayed around the park. Not being captain also meant not being the centre of attention, and that was very useful, especially on nights like tonight when all Joe wanted to do was run off with Jos and show him just how impressed he was with his heroics today.

Jos’ train of thought was clearly on the same track because he looked longingly across the dinner table at Joe; away from the animated discussion Jof and Rash were having over the top of his head. Looking ridiculously handsome in a plain white shirt – sleeves rolled up – and pleasingly tight trousers, Jos raised his beer bottle to his lips and drank, all without breaking eye contact. Joe bit his lip and crossed his legs under the table, belatedly realising that Jonny was tugging on his sleeve like a young child begging their parent for attention. Trying to repress his annoyance, and a few other feelings that lingered just below the surface, Joe reluctantly stopped leering at Jos and turned to his left,

“What is it Jonny?” Joe asked, although perhaps it was closer to snapping.  
Jonny blinked away hurt, “Um the lads are on about going on to a club, just wondering if you wanted to share a cab.”  
Joe smiled in what he hoped was a kind way, and gently but firmly removed Jonny’s hand from his cuff where it was still holding on. Joe raised his voice ever so slightly, and flicked his eyes quickly across the table to make sure he caught the attention of a certain wicket-keeper,  
“Actually Jonny, I’m not feeling great; my head is… **_pounding._** Might head back to the hotel, get some kip.”  
“Aww,” Jonny’s moan was petulant but affectionate, “Well feel better Rooty.”  
“Yeah, cheers,” Joe’s words were said to Jonny but his mind is elsewhere, and there’s a man across the table from him forcing down a greedy grin that really wasn’t helping his focus.

The team soon decamped and slowly, subtly, Jos and Joe made their way to the back of the group, hoping to slip away unnoticed.  
“So,” Jos breathed, somehow packing so much meaning into that one syllable – desire, frustration, dopey affection.  
“So,” was all Jos could think to reply, rubbing up and down Jos’ bare forearm.  
“Oi, Jos!” Jonny’s interruption sent a shockwave of panic through Joe as he pulled away from Jos’ arm like its surface was heating up far too quickly for human touch.  
“Fuck off, Jonny” Jos muttered under his breath but he was smiling, almost laughing, maybe he didn’t worry about these things as much as Joe.  
“You want to get in our cab, Jos?” Jonny indicated with his head to Ben who was wearily tailing him, clearly on babysitting duty, “Old Man Root is going home to mind his sheep.”  
Jos scoffed, and Joe rolled his eyes, “Is that a Yorkie joke, Jonny? Really? Don’t stoop to their level.” Joe looked to Ben who smirked – such a bad influence.

Jos used the distraction as cover to search for an answer, eventually offering the non-committal and not especially convincing,  
“I’ll meet you guys there, okay?” Jonny’s expression – as always, readable like a comic book – showed his confusion. But before he could argue, Ben collared him and steered him towards the door, “Come on Young JB, you owe me a cocktail and a dance. We’ll see you later Jos,” adding, when Jonny had made it outside, “Or not,” before disappearing himself. As their two teammates toddled off down the street, Jos could hear Jonny complain about the nickname Woody had invented to distinguish between Jos and Jonny was catching on - even though the age difference was a matter of weeks, it seemed suitable. Jos had to admit that though Ben had made a few dumb choices in his time, he might just be the smartest guy in the room. He didn’t dwell on this thought for too long however because Joe put a warm hand on the small of his back, leaned into his ear and whispered a promise that Jos intended to speed back to their hotel to hold him to, even it meant throwing Joe on his back and carrying him there.

* * *

_**They've got to go...** _

Joe would argue that his room was marginally larger than Jos’, being a corner suite – perks of being a senior player, and of Trev’s favourites. But Joe’s room was next to Eoin’s and even though Morgs was still out with the rest of the team, Jos said it was like walking into your boss’ office and having sex on the desk after he’d left for the day. Joe thought that logic was confused at best but saying no to Jos was a skill he had yet to master, and anything that got them from where they were now to being naked any quicker was fine by him. Joe emphasised the point by practically dragging Jos up the hotel hallway.

“Are you trying to start without me? Because I have the key card.”  
Jos laughed, and stopped their progress, letting go of Joe’s hand to look for his room key in his pockets, causing Joe to huff impatiently. Jos stopped giggling, and put his hands on his hips, using the stern voice he usually reserved for telling Jonny that no, he probably shouldn’t have another dessert after a filling Lord’s lunch, “Joe, we can’t get into the room without my key, you do know that don’t you?” Joe kicked the ground in annoyance and nodded, as Jos continued, “Look, I’m very flattered that you are still so excited to get into my pants but-“  
“Jos you were the one who tried to jump my bones in the hallowed halls of Lord’s.”  
“And they are lovely bones to jump. But Joe, everyone is out, we have time for once. Let me… romance you.”  
Jos accompanied his words by snaking an arm around Joe’s neck and kissing him on his now very flushed cheek.  
Joe didn’t say anything in response, he didn’t have to, he merely smiled and nodded. Joe stepped back, and gestured for Jos take his time. For Jos, he had all the time in the world.

* * *

**_He's got it..._ **

Jos closed the door quietly and made his way slowly, deliberately to where Joe was sitting on his bed. He unbuttoned his cuffs, taking the time to place his cufflinks in the box on his desk. Joe watched him, not saying anything, just biting his lip. Jos began to walk over to Joe at last, kissed him very chastely, and then just as Joe tried to deepen it, he stood up again as if he had just thought of something, took his phone from his pocket and put it in the iPod dock. Joe shook his head and gritted his teeth, “You’re a piece of work, Jossy.”  
Jos selected a playlist and went back to Joe, taking his outstretched hand, “Mm hm, but worth it, right?” Instead of allowing Joe a second to answer, Jos grabbed Joe roughly and kissed him ferociously, as if meaning to swallow him whole. Jos shoved a hand into Joe’s shirt without pausing to unbutton it. When they finally came up for air, Joe was grinning like he’d beaten Broady at golf – a rare occasion – or when he’d edged a ball and it fell between two exasperated fielders – when he’d gotten away with something he really shouldn’t have.  
“That’s your going slow is it?” Joe teased really unable to help himself. Jos knew Joe was being a little shit but he really was powerless in this moment, Joe had that way of shifting the ground beneath his feet, “I really can’t help it, you’re just so fit.”  
“ ** _You_** can’t help it? How do you think I feel with you wearing that shirt to dinner? You know white shirts and tans are my kryptonite.”  
“I fucking knew you were perving at Cooky in the TMS box the other day!”  
“Country boys and farmer’s tans, what can I say?”  
The mood was light but Jos could be incredibly sensitive about these kind of things and Joe couldn’t be sure Jos wasn’t secretly jealous – Joe and Cooky were very close.  
Joe rushed to add, “You’re hotter though.”  
“That’s lucky. Because it’s my cock that you’ve got your hand on right now.”  
Joe looked down, realising his hand had automatically moved to Jos’ crotch, and grinned, “Yes I’m very, very lucky.”

He meant it all and Jos knew it, but he also knew that a response was unnecessary, except to kiss Joe, hard. He undid Joe’s shirt with only slightly more patience than he’d shown before, and kissed down Joe’s chest as he went, before discarding Joe’s shirt on the floor. Jos worked his tongue down the smooth surface around and between Joe’s nipples, as Joe moaned – quietly at first, then much louder.  
“Jossy stop, stop. My jeans are far too tight for you to keep doing that.”  
Jos pulled back, grinning lasciviously. He athletically popped back up to a standing position – damn, Joe thought, that boy was springy – so they could each hurriedly remove their clothes. Joe was right about his jeans and he had to sit up to further his attempts to remove them. After a moment of just watching Joe struggle and receiving a glare in return, Jos grabbed one leg and pulled hard, giggling as he did so. One leg done, Jos tugged on the other, finally peeling it off with a firm yank that had him stumbling backwards into the wall with. Luckily Jase had the room next door, and he would be throwing terrible shapes on the dance floor for a few hours yet.

Jos bit his lip – oops – as Joe, taking advantage of Jos’ prone position, stalked over and pinned him there. Joe kissed him, using one hand to push Jos firmly into the wall by his chest, and with the other, worked into Jos’ Calvin Klein briefs. Joe liked to tease Jos for having the same taste in underwear as Italian footballers from the Nineties but in reality, he found it incredibly attractive. He pulled Jos’ already slick and stiff cock from his underwear and began – not entirely gently – to pump up and down. He momentarily took his hand away from Jos’ chest to completely remove Jos’ tight underwear and then his own – some less sexy but very functional Marks & Sparks’ boxers. Jos pulled Joe in by his firm backside so their erections crashed together, as Joe moved his hands upwards and ran them through Jos’ rich chest hair, feeling Jos grin into their kiss as they did so. Jos had always been self-conscious about his furry chest but Joe had found it extremely sexy and didn’t mind showing it, and at long last, Jos had learned to love it, or at least love how much Joe loved it. They had improved each other’s self image purely by appreciating the tiny things about each other, although Joe was still putting copious amounts of product in his hair no matter how many times Jos reassured him that it looked better all messy and natural – a work in progress, Jos hoped.

Jos dragged his fingers down Jos’ chest with a final rake as he lowered himself to a kneeling position in front of Jos, looking up to him with big round eyes like he was some divine being who deigned to descend to earth to co-exist with common man. Joe began his act of worship with a greedy mouth, taking Jos’ cock in his mouth entirely, and then following it with long lingering movements with his tongue. Jos made his appreciation clear with low guttural moans in case Joe missed the precum already leaking from him. Jos was close to losing control when he pleaded, “Babe, babe, wait.” He lifted Joe to him with strong arms, holding his jaw firmly and kissing him, then carefully guided Joe over to the bed. After slowly lowering Joe onto the bed, with uncharacteristic clumsiness he stubbed his toe.

“Motherfucking bollocks,” Jos barked, and Joe couldn’t help but giggle. Jos’ accent made it hard for him to ever sound seriously annoyed, although Joe valued his life enough to never actually voice this opinion.  
“Are you okay, love?” Joe asked, trying just so hard to stop laughing.  
“Yes, ah, fuck, yes I’m fine, ah - I hate it when you call me love, you sound about a hundred years old, and it’s making my boner go down.”  
Joe snorted again, “I think it’s more because all the blood is rushing to your brain, because you’ve instigated your fight and flight instinct and the adrenaline is deciding you don’t **_actually_** need to fuck anyone to survive.”  
Jos finally was able to stop hopping around and made his way to Joe on the bed, “Oo science… sexy.”  
“Mm hm. Well if your boner has gone away, I can always make it come back again.”  
Jos made his way to the bedside drawer, removing the lube and slicking three of the fingers on his right hand.  
“Good,” Jos whispered, straddling Joe and quickly proving that he’d overcome his survival instincts and was still very much in the game, “Because I’m pretty sure I **_do_** need to fuck you to survive.”

Joe giggled, “Oh my actual days,” but acquiesced to Jos’ touch when he bent down to kiss him tenderly. Jos traced his left hand from Joe’s ribs, along his hips and then onto his cock that he gripped firmly. He dragged his hand along its length a few times before working his dextrous fingers, slick with lube, around to Joe’s entrance. He swiftly followed one finger with two then three before guiding his cock into Joe, a journey that was now familiar and yet just as exhilarating as the first time. Joe bucked towards Jos and gasped softly at the moment of entry and soon Jos found a steady rhythm of thrusts. Joe reached down to his own cock but Jos folded his own fist around Joe’s hand, timing his movements with his own thrusts. Their dynamic was well established and it worked for them, Joe loved to surrender totally to Jos, and Jos loved seeing Joe so totally under his spell. Joe’s expression of pure pleasure was enough to get Jos to the edge and once Joe orgasmed; Jos was immediately overcome and came, unloading his sticky mess onto Joe’s tight stomach to add to Joe’s own. It was a clear sign of their trust that Joe barely blinked at this, merely grinning like a satisfied Yorkshire Cat.

Jos used all of his strength not to collapse straight onto Joe for fear of actually squashing him. He exhaled and fell onto the bed next to Joe. He reached across and stroked Joe’s cheek lovingly, Joe looked over to him, smiling dreamily, and Jos glowed, “You’re so beautiful, you know that?”  
“I do," Joe grinned, "You tell me enough, and you’re too pure to lie.”  
Jos let out a low chuckle and reached his other hand onto Joe’s stomach, already forgetting what they had just done. He must have grimaced because Joe coughed and shuffled off the bed, muttering something about going to clean up. Jos made a guilty face then suddenly lit upon an idea, picking up the room phone and dialling.

* * *

**_By the barest of all margins..._ **

Joe came out of the bathroom to a very smug looking Jos sitting on the edge of the bed.  
“What have you done?” Joe eyed Jos, immediately suspicious.  
“Why would have I done anything?” Jos replied, badly feigning innocence.  
“Joseph…” Joe warned  
“Yes, Joseph?” Jos grinned back, though he knew he was not at all convincing, “Okay fine, but it’s a good surprise, promise.”  
Joe couldn’t be sure, sensing some foul play. Jos shook his head, “Why is it always people that play pranks that think no one else could possibly have good intentions?”  
“I think you answered your own question there. You could just tell me,” Joe kept his arms folded.  
Jos chuckled and pressed a kiss into Joe’s temple, then to the corner of his scowl, “Just… wait.”  
Patience was not Joe’s strong suit but luckily less than a minute later, while Jos examined himself in the bathroom mirror, there was a knock at the door. Joe popped his head around the corner like a meerkat hearing a predator and Jos laughed again.  
“Just go back to bed and wait,” he instructed; calm but firm, and Joe reluctantly complied but only when Jos frogmarched him back there.  
“If you’ve asked Cooky to join us, I’ll owe you big time.”  
Another knock at the door came, this time more insistent. Joe raised his eyebrows, “Oh, keen.”  
Jos shook his head, then with a skilful flick of his foot, grabbed the nearest piece of clothing to him and put it on. Unperturbed by the fact that they happened to be Joe’s naff boxers, and that he had put them on inside out, Jos opened the door.

The hotel staffer on the other side blinked sleepily, and wordlessly handed over an ice bucket and a magnum of champagne, smiling and nodding to Jos’ thanks. He handed over a receipt pad and pen and Jos signed, wondering if silence was part of the deal. The slightly strange but efficient transaction almost came to a close without incident when around the corner of the hallway came Liam Plunkett, closely followed by Mark Wood. The significance of the situation did not penetrate the hotel staffer’s conscience for he tucked the pad in his pocket as Liam and Mark approached, smiled briefly and with a bored expression, left Jos to turn bright red and gulp uncontrollably.

“You’re back early boys,” Jos squeaked, stalling for time. Mark and Liam didn’t immediately say anything; they just stood there lapping up the moment. Several things ran through Jos’ head; what they were doing there back at the hotel, whether it was just the two of them or the whole team were dripping in, what would happen if Joe came to the door to see what was going on – but none of these thoughts supplied him with an idea of what to say next. Still, neither Mark nor Liam had said anything, they just grinned like Northern idiots - Jos couldn’t fully describe it but the way Mark smiled especially, it was inherently Geordie. And right then, Jos hated them.

Eventually, Jos stammered out a feeble and quite frankly bizarre, “Just… um… felt like treating myself,” as he glanced down at the champagne that felt heavier and heavier in his hand. Finally Mark broke his silence with a cheeky “Well deserved” - his smirk never fading.  
“Both of you,” Liam added, finding his voice again. Jos realised he preferred it when they were quiet. Whether they knew who was in the room with Jos, it was clear and obvious that he wasn’t alone; no DRS on this one, Jos wouldn’t be throwing away a review - he was out.

Just as Jos was hoping for a sinkhole to open up in the halls of the hotel, with ridiculously bad timing, Joe’s almost child-like patience wore thin and he called out from the room, “Jossy, what are you- come back.”  
Jos didn’t think it was possible for his cheeks to heat up any more but his heart continued to hammer blood up to his face as he gasped for air and grasped for words. Mark and Liam however didn’t seem at all fazed by Joe’s voice - although they were forcing down giggles, if they were shocked, they didn’t show it.

“Goodnight Jospeh…s” Mark said then departed with a wink, taking Liam by the hand and walking with him towards Liam’s room. Jos was completely bewildered by the whole affair and couldn’t begin to sum up his thoughts on the last few minutes but he found his mouth turning into a smile. Yes, the last twenty-four hours had taught him to expect the unexpected, but although they shared a penchant for fluorescent board shorts, Flame Grilled Steak McCoys, and chewing on ice chips to ease nerves, he never would have guessed that one of things he had in common with Mark Wood was a taste for Northern lads.

* * *

_**Absolute ecstasy...** _

Jos half-walked, half-stumbled back into the room, closing the door with his foot, before finally arriving back in front of Joe. Joe had donned one of Jos’ hoodies and some of his grey lounge shorts to keep warm, a look Jos would find incredibly sexy under normal circumstances. But these were not anywhere near normal circumstances, and Jos’ face was still stuck in rabbit-in-headlights bamboozlement. Jos slowly and silently put the champagne bucket down, and sat next to Joe on the bed. After almost thirty seconds of silence, Joe finally had to ask, “Erm, are you okay Jossy? What… what happened out there?” Jos seemed to finally come back to earth, or at least somewhere in the nearby atmosphere, when he blinked back at Joe,  
“Oh shit, I forgot glasses. Did he bring glasses? I don’t remember.”  
“Okay…”  
“Shit sorry, sorry. This was meant to be a nice surprise and then I ruined it.”  
Joe wrapped himself around Jos like a comforting kola, “It’s fine baby, shh. It’s a lovely surprise; look I’ll get mugs. Moët is Moët, even in a toothbrush mug.”  
“Oh fuck, you like Moët best don’t you? It’s Veuve. Just go ahead and dump me now.” Joe had to laugh because Jos looked absolutely serious about this, and held his head in his hands. Joe pulled away from Jos’ chest, forcibly removed Jos’ hands and got right up in his face, “Babe, what the hell happened?” Jos sniffed dramatically and finally Joe got up, only slightly rolling his eyes, and got them both mugs, and filled them with fine champagne.

Jos took a large glug of Veuve Clicquot before finally taking Joe by both hands and facing him, “Okay, so you know how you said how mathematically speaking, it’s unlikely to be just us.”  
“Yes, and I also remember you telling me if I ever brought up maths in the bedroom again, you’d do my orgasm face as a party piece for the lads.”  
“Okay yes that might have been a bit harsh.”  
“A bit?!?”  
“Okay a lot, but the point is: Joe, I think you were right. Because I think I just saw Woody and Pudsey sneaking back for some adult fun. And I don’t mean Attenborough’s latest documentary.”  
“The one with the whales is so good though, like when -wait, go back. Woody and Pudsey! Woody like Woody, and Pudsey like...?”  
“Our teammate Liam Plunkett yes.”  
Joe leapt up, and began pacing up and down, seized by a manic energy, “Are you sure? Did they say anything? Did you see them kissing? And wait, they saw you like that? In my boxers? Do they know they’re my boxers?” Joe half-paused for breath before he realised something else, and made a low gasping sound, “Wait, did they hear me?” then lower and more panicked still “Did they hear me call you Jossy?”

Jos stared at Joe wondering which question to answer first; he ticked them off with his fingers as he tried to remember them all in order “Pretty sure. No not a lot. No but they were holding hands. Sadly yes. Yes and I’ve also just realised they’re inside out. I don’t think so, why would they? And yes,s very much yes.”  
“Oh God. Right. Right, okay,” Joe sank back down onto the bed, then considered, “Could be worse I suppose. Don’t reckon they’ll say anything. If they’re… in the same boat I mean. You just wouldn’t, would you?”  
Joe reached out a reassuring hand, and rubbed Jos’ arm. Jos slowly nodded, “You’re right, I’m sure they…” Jos trailed off and looked into the distance, horrified. Joe checked his eye-line, confused, and then carefully, afraid of what the next revelation might entail, asked, “What is it?”  
“I’ve just realized that now they both know that Arctic Monkeys is on my sex playlist.”  
Joe almost howled with laughter at this and Jos had to hold a pillow over his face to quieten him.  
Joe fought back, throwing the pillow to the floor, and grabbed Jos by the wrists, “They’re gonna think that’s my choice when I know too bloody well it’s cause you fancy Alex Turner.”  
Jos chuckled, softy, and loomed over a prone Joe, “Indie boys with Sheffield accents, what can I say?”  
Joe grinned and Jos dropped onto his elbows, and enveloped Joe in a deep kiss. Jos didn’t waste much time in reaching for the waistband of his shorts and worming his hand underneath it to Joe’s stiffening cock. Finding too much resistance in the thick fabric, Jos’ impatiently pulled them off and began to reach up to the hoodie. Joe made a small noise of protest, and Jos pulled back immediately, “What’s up? Are you okay?”  
Joe smiled at Jos, stroking his face affectionately, “Yes babe, I’m fine, I’m just… cold. Can I… just keep the hoodie on for now?”  
Jos giggled, “What like a sexy Winnie the Pooh?”  
Joe shrugged, embarrassed and Jos just loved him so much in that moment – love, woah, what was that? Jos blinked away his inner confusion and kissed Joe again, lightly this time, reassuring.  
“Of course babe, whatever you want. And it’s kind of a narcissistic fantasy of mine to fuck someone wearing my clothes anyway.”

Joe frowned; he knew that Jos didn’t have a narcissistic bone in his body, unless he’d got confused about what narcissism was. But philosophical debates weren’t important right now, there was only him and Jos and this feeling between them. Knowing they weren’t alone anymore, it made it all seem more real. But that didn’t scare Joe. A year ago it might have, but with all the challenges he’d been through; the pressures of captaincy, Cooky retiring, and a tough World Cup – he knew he wouldn’t have survived it if it weren’t for Jos. And right then, with eleven stone of Taunton-made muscle bearing down on him, Joe was pretty confident he was exactly where he was meant to be. And two of their teammates might know a secret they had hoped to keep forever, but Joe had no plans to go anywhere, to ever move any further than he had to from one Joseph Charles Buttler.

* * *

_**Agony, agony...** _

They had both tried not to think of what they might say to Mark and Liam the next morning. But if they had, they would have guessed that Mark was not going to allow the opportunity to be as annoying as possible about the whole thing to pass him by. When he sat down at their breakfast table, with a mountain of food piled on his plate, Joe was hardly surprised, but that didn’t mean he had to be happy about it. Jos closed his eyes and counted to ten, hoping to wish Mark away through sheer willpower. Unfortunately, when he reopened them, Mark was still there, not saying anything just grinning inanely, and eating as if showcasing the contents of his mouth for some kind of sponsorship deal.

The silence seemed to stretch out like the first day of an Australian test when you’re fielding in the heat, until Liam sat down next to Mark, who clearly took this his cue to ask, “Good night last night?”  
“Yup.”  
“Yup.”  
Joe and Jos answered almost simultaneously, not daring to look at each other. Joe wondered if Liam would say anything. Liam wasn’t as much of a wind-up merchant as Mark was; to be honest, no one even came close. But whether he’d save them or not was another matter. He was not known for speaking up, and with the rest of the team were milling about getting their breakfast, Joe doubted it. Mark clearly feeling zero embarrassment about his part in last night’s events, continued, his mouth still full of food, “Get up to anything special?”  
“Woody,” Liam warned, and Joe almost smiled, impressed with his gumption. But the courage didn’t last long for when Mark put on his best innocent face, Liam clearly lost his nerve, opting for, “Er… don’t speak with your mouth full.  
“You’ve never complained before.” Mark retorted.  
“Jesus.” Liam exclaimed despairing.

Jos couldn’t believe the balls on Woody – of course secretly he was jealous. He wished he had the confidence to be like that with Joe in front of other people. To show them how much he cared about him. But he just wasn’t there yet. Maybe he never would be. Jos turned the same shade of red as last night in the corridor, and Joe clearly decided it was best for him to escape altogether, pushing his chair back, muttering something about coffee and turning to flee. As he went to rush away, he almost crashed directly into Jonny, who of course was exactly where you didn’t want him to be at that moment.  
“Oof, that was almost a terrible mess,” Jonny giggled, then putting on an accent that was only barely recognisable as Kiwi, yelled far too loud for a room full of hangovers, “By the barest of margins, by the barest of all margins.”  
Joe was utterly lost and a quick glance around the table showed he wasn’t the only one. Sometimes he felt really thick about anything that involved pop culture or any sort of culture at all really. But he was relieved this time to be part of the majority.  
“What on earth was that Young JB?” Mark asked, and despite the confusion, despite the awkward meal they were having to survive, the table guiltily grinned as Jonny scowled briefly at the nickname.  
“You guys haven’t watched the last ball yet?” Jonny put his plate down on the table, and Jos was suddenly grateful that Jonny crashed around sticking his oar in, for he might just be saving them from Mark Wood.  
“Jos, seriously, **_you_** haven’t heard the commentary? Ian Smith?” Jos shrugged and glanced around, hoping someone would save him, but Joe just stumbled away staring at his feet while Jos glared daggers at his back for abandoning him – he’d have to get him for that later.  
After a silence during which Jonny glanced between the remaining members of the party eagerly, Mark leant back and with that loathsome smug smile on his face, said on an exhale, “We were all a bit busy last night, mate.” Jonny seemed to accept the explanation and with a shrug, mumbled “ICC made this video…‘s great… I’ll show you later if you like.” Jonny picked up his breakfast and left again, despite Jos’ silently begging him not to go with pleading eyes. Clearly feeling bad for not controlling Mark, though Jos realised this was an impossible task, Liam smiled and said in a quiet voice, “I think we got away with that one.”  
“Yeah, just,” Jos said, his voice coming out screechy like a teenager. But if they thought Mark was done, they had another think coming, for he didn’t miss a beat before whispering, “By the barest of margins.”

Liam groaned again, and Jos even let out a reluctant laugh. Despite his exasperation, Liam was smiling at Mark with soft eyes. That was the funny thing about love, all that person’s faults just make you love them even more, you can’t help it. You sometimes want to ignore it – Jos had tried all that and it had only brought pain and self-loathing – but it has its way of persisting. Jos busied himself on his phone under the guise of searching for the ICC video but in reality he was texting the cowardly lion hiding across the room behind the coffee machine. Joe’s phone buzzed in his pocket and he took it out and read Jos’ message, glancing around quickly first because Jos had put him in some awkward situations in the past. But the text was very much SFW, although the smile that spread across Joe’s face as a result wasn’t exactly subtle. In fact if anyone had captured and compared it, it was the exact same expression he had on his face at 7:35pm yesterday when he and Jos wrapped their arms around each other on the Lord’s pitch for the first time as World Cup Winners. Joe thought about replying but what he really wanted to say in response was much better said in person. Instead, Joe locked his screen and put his phone in his pocket, and with the same stupid grin on his face, finished pouring himself another coffee, and blew on the hot surface, forcing himself to wait before taking a sip.

**< <Mon Jul 15 2019 9:23am, Jos to Joe:** ****

I want to be like Woody and Pudsey when we grow up.>>


End file.
